Fingers Crossed
by icings
Summary: Communication doesn't always require words. How a moment in time, and a single gesture within it, can change our story. Snowing oneshot.


**Fingers Crossed**

She'd told him that true love, that first kiss, that none of that really existed. She'd even meant it, maybe, then in the moment. Believed it, anyway.

There wasn't much that was still real to her.

He was different though; different than any other prince she'd ever known, different from what she remembered of him, from back when she was still a princess and at least acquainted with all the young royals. Prince James had always been rather hopelessly arrogant, and boring for it. The James she was bantering with now, oh, he was still unquestionably arrogant, but that cocky note in his voice was - annoyingly - charming. Attractive.

She couldn't allow herself to see the appeal. There were no possibilities here. Even the nickname was a stupid idea, yet it kept slipping out of her mouth. Made him smile.. She liked his smile. She couldn't like his smile.

He'd grown up, she supposed. Everyone did. It had been many years since she'd last seen Prince James. He was different, but time changed people. Life changed people.

It had changed her.

He kept saving her.

She'd robbed him of something that was obviously very important to him. She'd given him that cut on his chin that was totally going to scar. She'd tricked him, and dumped him into the lake, and it didn't appear that he was the strongest of swimmers.

And he'd saved her.

There was something rather extraordinary about him. She couldn't afford to see that, but it was impossible to not.

They parted ways and she regretted it. She would go back to the life on the run that she hated. And he would go back to marry the nag with the bad attitude.

It frightened her that she hated that more.

* * *

His days were spent in a haze of honour and duty. He'd taken to the role well, surprisingly so, but had not been born for it. This was not meant to be his life.

The real prince, he supposed, would have known this was coming. The crown prince's marriage must always be advantageous for his kingdom. He would have always known his bride would be handpicked for him.

Choice and free will were not hallmarks of royalty. The real prince would not have grown up knowing any other way.

He was Prince James now, future ruler of a kingdom of men who envied him. And yet he'd have given anything to have been a shepherd once more.

It would be alright, he figured, for a shepherd to run off after a bandit.

The king was throwing around threats, and the prince had stopped caring. She'd told him that true love didn't exist, but he knew that to be false, and that was enough. He was perhaps chasing a fool's dream, but he was an optimist, and besides, he'd sworn he would only ever marry for love.

* * *

She'd received the letter with a disbelieving smile, uncertain of how this could happen or what they would do, but knew that being with him had to be better than being without.

She'd have been successful, maybe, probably, in breaking in, in sneaking away with James, if not for the fact that she'd had to save Grumpy. Would never have been able to look James in the eye if she had sacrificed another to get to him.

The king looked at her with such hatred, but she'd felt no fear until he'd threatened James.

_He is not my son._

And probably she'd known it subconsciously all along, because while it was a shock to hear the truth spoken, it didn't leave her as shaken as she otherwise would have been. The man she loved now may not have been James, but he was still Charming, and she had to keep him safe, no matter the cost.

She entered the room quietly, taking a moment to just watch him, unguarded, without fear of what came next.

He was beautiful, and whole, and she wished more than she had ever wished for anything - her mother, her father, her kingdom, her freedom - that she could somehow keep him from ever being hurt; the way that she could see he was already hurting now, slumped posture unusual for him; the way that she knew she was mere seconds away from hurting him more.

She wished she could run to him now, whisper the truth, but knew it was impossible. A king knew all the secrets of his own castle, and every castle had plenty. It would be too much to hope for that the hateful king was not somewhere near, waiting to hear every word of this conversation.

No. She would have to go through with it, as she shut the door with an audible click.

She hated herself when she saw the look of stunned joy on his face; hated herself even more as he lifted up, spun her around, and she found unable to keep herself from gripping him just as tightly as he was her.

She had to keep him safe.

Had to keep him whole.

She told him she didn't love him with a blank calmness she'd perfected during time on the run, determined that were she ever caught she would never again show fear, pain, or any other emotion. Wouldn't give her stepmother the satisfaction.

Couldn't break down in front of Charming now.

She didn't know who he was if he wasn't the prince, but could only figure that he certainly wasn't royal. He would have grown up in a village somewhere she thought - hoped - and it was with this last desperate prayer that she turned away from the man she loved,.

Before her mother had died, her father had been far less reclusive, not so overprotective, and would frequently let her play in the villages of her kingdom with the other children. From them, she had learned the silly crude gestures the peasants used. An unspoken language, communicating without speaking... all a wonderful amusement to the child princess, one the other children, delighted to be a real royal's friend, were only to happy to share.

Reaching the door, she looked back once more to see a tear fall from Charming's eye, and she silently begged him to see what she wasn't saying.

"You must let me go," she said quietly, making sure all the while that her right hand behind her was clearly in his line of vision. "We can never be together."

She walked out the door without looking back, terrified of what she'd see if she did.

* * *

He'd drawn in a breath just as the door closed. Surely he hadn't seen what he'd thought he'd seen. Even if he had - how would she, who had grown up royal, know of the gesture?

_"You said I could have a turn with the ball next!'_

_"But I didn't MEAN it."_

_"You PROMISED! And you can't break a promise, not ever! It's a jinx to break a promise so bad things will happen to you now!"_

_"Nuh-uh! I had my fingers crossed, so there!"_

_"What difference does that make?"_

_"You can break a promise if you've got your fingers crossed behind your back when you're telling it. It means whatever you're saying isn't true, but it'll protect you."_

_"How?"_

_"Oh, I dunno. It just does. It's not a real lie if your fingers are crossed when you're telling it."_

It was foolish to put such hope in child's play; in an impossibility; in a faint memory of another lifetime, but it was all he had going for him.

The only other possibility was too painful to bear.

He'd waited a couple of days to ease the king's suspicions, waited for the right moment. Played the broken hearted to perfection (never much of an actor, he'd managed to convince himself that he'd truly lost her for a couple of days, which depressed him plenty enough for it). The more broken he'd seemed, the more cheerful the king had become. On the fifth day (right when he'd felt ready to lose his mind), the king announced that he would be going to visit Midas's kingdom, that further arrangements were to be made for the wedding, and that James was not to attend, lest his melancholy and lack of decorum were to offend the cursed king and cause problems.

He'd managed to keep from skipping out of the king's chambers.

He'd waited for nightfall, a full seven hours after the king's party's departure; pacing the castle to kill the time. There had been limited personnel left behind to guard the prince (not considered such a flight risk after having been broken hearted), and the few were little more than buffoons anyway, delighted to join James when he'd suggested they have themselves a few (how was the king to know?), and quite happy to pass out drunk after more than a few.

He'd prepared for the journey early, sneaking food, water, and gold into a satchel designed to attach to his horse's saddle. With all other souls in the castle unconscious, he hadn't even had to sneak out to the stables, rather, broke into a full-out run, readying Thorion quickly, and escaping into the night.

Though he would not, could not know it, he'd given himself a full day's head-start. Twelve hours until anyone else woke up. Another six before they would complete the search of the castle and accept that the prince was gone. And six more before anyone got the courage to send message to the king and order out the manhunt.

Twenty-four hours advantage, running on pure adrenaline, fueled by equal parts determination and desperation born of a love that felt like magic.

They weren't going to be catching him anytime soon.

* * *

She'd ended up with a home, somehow, and something of a family. It was more than she could reasonably have hoped for, and she knew it. The dwarves had taken her in, and she felt certain that she would never be able to repay their kindness.

It felt a sad attempt to make up what she owed, to help them with household chores as she was, but there was little else she could do, and for that matter, as Doc kept telling her, there was no denying that they needed the help.

It kept her busy, kept her from counting hours, watching days go by, losing hope. Having something to do - and she made sure she always had something to do - kept her from losing it completely.

She was wearing a simple white dress, made of fabric that Bashful had blushingly presented her with on her first night in the cottage, stumbling over his suggestion that she might like some clean clothes. Her hair was washed and brushed clean for the first time in many months, falling into the loose curls she'd always preferred to keep it in, and tucked behind her ear was a flower of some sort that Happy had brought her after work the night before.

Truly, the dwarves were lovely, and they had made her feel human again, warm, clean, and safe. Happy, no, not yet, but they all knew that was too much to expect, for now, perhaps forever. No one understood better than Grumpy, and as he had quietly explained to the others, she'd need Charming for happiness.

She'd decided to tackle the washing on that day, and so had been out in the yard working over the basin, when she suddenly found herself with the unmistakeable sense of being watched. She looked up, for whatever reason not wary - though there were plenty of people she should fear watching her, the feeling now was of unquestionable safety.

The eyes that met her own were warmer than she'd ever known blue eyes could be.

* * *

He'd barely stopped to rest. Unhealthy, perhaps, but it wasn't worth it to him, not when he knew he was being chased; not when he did not know where to find the beauty he was chasing himself. For all he knew, she was traveling too, getting farther from him. The idea pained him terribly.

He couldn't be certain, even now, that he was heading in the right direction, that he was getting closer at all, that he would ever manage to find her, that she would even want him if he did. He knew that he was risking his life on a whim - on something he may or may not have seen, may or may not have meant the same thing to her that it did to him. He was going on instinct, on a gut feeling, and on the unfailing belief that he would always find his way back to her.

This was insanity. And yet, it was all he could do. She was everything. There was no other option.

He had to be going the right way.

When he reached an open field, he leapt off of Thorion, sensing somehow that Snow had been to this place, that it meant something to her. The very air felt permeated with her.

He began calling for her, his desperation plain in his voice, and as he heard someone coming, he spun around.

It was not Snow - he had known it wasn't, he would have been able to feel it if had been her - but she would have been the only person he would have been happier to see. The red-hooded woman who emerged was the greatest reassurance he could have asked for. She knew of Snow, but more important than that, clearly cared for her. The woman who was everything had someone on her side.

_She loves you more than anything._

He needed to hear her say it herself more than he could fathom, but it warmed him to hear it from this stranger all the same.

They'd part ways quickly, he not having time to spare, and as he swore to Red he'd find her, as the smile spread across Red's undeniably lovely face, she told him not to let her go once he did.

_Not planning on it._

Red's laugh echoed in the wind as he urged Thorion into a gallop.

As he continued to travel northwest, he could feel himself getting closer to Snow, and the corresponding increase of his heartbeat, as he emerged from an utterly silent, stunningly beautiful, unquestionably enchanted forest to find himself staring at a small cottage. The house seemed almost to be of the forest, its cobblestone walls covered in some sort of vine that appeared to be days away from flowering. There were rosebushes surrounding the cottage, clearly well-cared for, and budding big, stunning roses in a colour he'd never dared imagine, simultaneously yellow-orange and red, and found himself immediately reminded of the sunrises he used to watch on a farm in another lifetime.

All in all, nothing about the cottage looked out of place. It looked organic, as though it had sprouted from the forest ground just as the flora that surrounded it had.

She was here. He knew it as he had never known anything else. There could be no place more perfect for her.

He'd leave Thorion by the gate into the yard, looping the horse's reigns around a fence post a couple of times, and making his way in slowly. He wandered around the side of the cottage, then froze.

She was leaning over a water basin, hard at work, as could never surprise him. She was wearing a white dress, simple but it stunned him anyway- he'd never seen her in a dress before, and he was a man - and the jet black curls that cascaded down her back stood out even more against the pure white backdrop the dress provided them.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he knew that he could never be without her. He'd never wanted more, never wished harder, never felt hope fill him quite like this.

_Fingers crossed._

She looked up then, right at him as though she'd known all along he'd be there, but by the shock on her face he knew better.

Somewhere he found the courage to take a few steps toward her, stopping only when he was a few feet away from the basin she still leaned over.

"This is going to sound ridiculous," he said, voice husky with hope and fear and stomach-turning desire, "But you wouldn't happen to know what children in the villages grow up believing crossing ones fingers behind their back means, would you?"

The smile that spread across her face then was so different from the one she'd given him days earlier, the one that had been pitying, had been sad more than anything else. This one was real, this one was joyful.

He'd swear he'd felt his heart soar.

"I've been told it protects one from the consequences of telling untruths, Charming." She laughed then, delighted. "And telling you I didn't love you... was the very worst untruth ever told."

He jumped over the basin then, beaming as he did so, and she was waiting for him, arms spread, as she leapt up into his own. Spinning her around, he thrilled at her laugh, and knew that this time, nothing bad could happen, nothing could tear them apart.

"You found me," she murmured, tears filling her eyes, but not falling.

"Did you ever doubt I would?"

She kissed him then, not at all tentative as a normal first kiss would be, but assured, in the way of a woman who knows she's exactly where she belongs.

* * *

They'd sit down together, there on the ground, the washing abandoned. His arms were wrapped around her, she'd never felt safer. They'd sit in silence, simply enjoying the moment, though they knew there was still so much to discuss, what to do next not least among topics. They only knew that, no matter what, they needed to be together, were willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. The shepherd-turned-prince ready to run, and the princess-turned-outlaw ready to stop.

When the dwarves arrived home hours later, they would find their Snow sitting hand-in-hand with a gentleman that could only be her Prince Charming. Six of the seven would rush forward, eager to meet the man Snow so loved.

Grumpy stayed back a moment, quietly observing. He would be the only one who would notice that the pair were not quite holding hands after all. Rather, both of their palms were flat on the ground, with only the pinky fingers of their hands - his right, her left - were entwined.

_Fingers crossed._

The seventh dwarf joined the rest of the group with a rare smile.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_

_**No worries, everyone, I'm still hard at work on Freedom Love. This is... just something I needed to get out of my system. It showed up in my head the other day, and I just had to get it written. It's just a one-shot for now, but if people were to want more, I have enough other ideas to stretch another chapter out of it. Let me know if you'd like that, or if you like it as it stands. I'll be marking it as Complete for now. **_

_**Thanks, as always, for reading. **_


End file.
